


Call of the Night

by Dragons_Heart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Blood Drinking, Forbidden Love, Immigrant Steve Rogers, M/M, Rival Covens, Vampire Steve Rogers, Vampire/Werewolf Rivalry, Werewolf Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragons_Heart/pseuds/Dragons_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So far, his life has been turned upside down twice. The first time was when the famine hit. The second was the night he was changed. Since then, his life has been static for the most part. People have come and gone, like always. The times keep changing, but immortality keeps Steve Rogers the same. He’s come to expect most everything that life could throw at him. But the one thing he couldn’t expect was for his life to be flipped around for a third time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to try my hand at Stucky since I've been getting more and more into the ship recently. I've also had vampire/werewolf AUs on the brain as well, so I thought I'd try my hand at a Stucky version. I hope you all enjoy!

_New York, 1857_

It was a cold night. Extremely cold, if truth be told. It was the kind of cold that could be felt in your bones, that made you go numb if you were out in it for too long. The wind was also gusting, only making it easier for the frigid air to cut through even the thickest coats and gloves and cause the healthiest of men to catch cold. Unfortunately for Steve Rogers, he had neither good health nor a decent coat on his side.

A shiver wracked his body and he tugged his threadbare coat tighter around his shoulders as he walked home from another long shift at the textile mill. He hated everything about his job. He hated the long hours and low wages. He hated how the only jobs he could do were working the conveyors or sewing machines because he was so frail; usually he ended up on the conveyors so the women could sew. He hated how far it took him to walk home. He hated how the dust and fibers caused his lungs to burn and make him cough and gasp for air. He hated the floor managers. He hated it all, except a couple of his coworkers that he took his short breaks with. But it was the only thing he’d been able to get. He’d never been able to finish high school since he’d had to start working at fifteen, just after his father passed. And while there were better jobs out there, he couldn’t get them because, despite living in New York for the last ten years, his Irish accent was still very present and sometimes overly strong. No one wanted to hire an Irish man.

Steve paused beneath a flickering streetlamp to adjust his scarf, his fingers wrapping around the fraying fabric and tugging it up over his mouth. The more cold air he could keep out of his lungs, the better. An asthma attack out here this late could result in him dead. While he was paused, he tugged his pocket watch out of his pocket to check the time. He had to press the button with both of this thumbs to get the latch to open since the springs were starting to rust and were sticking from the cold. He glanced at the time and let out a soft sound that was a borderline groan, but breathy enough to still be considered a sigh. 10:30, and he was only halfway home. It wasn’t a good situation.

He started walking forward again, the occasionally leaf or page from the evening Times crunching under his foot while his eyes darted around the alleys and side roads. He didn’t think he’d be mugged, but one could never know. Besides, there were worse things lurking in the shadows than some crook wanting money. Things that Steve had been warned about since he was a child; faeries, sprites, men that were half animal, and witches just being a few. Steve never liked to consider himself as superstitious, but one could never be too careful. He reached up to grasp for the crucifix that he normally wore around his neck, but his fingers wrapped only around his scarf and shirt collar.

“Damn,” he muttered, his breath warming his scarf up and trapping the heat against his face. He’d forgotten for a moment that he’d stopped wearing the silver cross and chain to work. He used to, but then there was one day when one man got his tie snagged in one of the machines. The guy had bent over to fix a jam and his necktie got twisted up into the gears. Needless to say, the man had died and the scene wasn’t pretty. Steve had sworn off wearing anything around his neck to work after that, including his crucifix. He may have felt like he needed it, but not that much. He was fairly certain that God would forgive him for that considering it was for self-preservation.

But right now, he really wished he’d had it. The late hour was bad enough, but the streets were abandoned and Steve didn’t exactly live in the safest part of the city. Plus he was starting to feel eyes on him, like he was being followed. He paused under another streetlamp and glanced around for a moment. When he didn’t see or hear anything, he lifted his partially gloved hands and blew on his exposed fingers. He rubbed his hands together and shoved them in his pockets before walking forward again. As he moved, his mind started working to find the fastest and safest way home. After all, despite what his senses told him, he didn’t feel safe.

Obviously, his first option was to follow the lit streets back to his neighborhood. That way, his path would not only be constantly lit, but there was also a higher chance that if something did happen, someone would see and notify the authorities or help. It was the safest option, but also the slowest.

His second option was to take his normal route home, which involved cutting through several back alleys and side roads. It was certainly faster than the main roads, but it was much more dangerous and risky.

The third option was to cut through the park that was a few blocks ahead of him. It was a little bit of a round-a-bout path seeing as he had to cut a few more blocks east than normal. However, he’d done it a few times before during the daytime and found it to be a bit faster than the main roads. And even though he’d be more exposed in the park, it was still lit in places and had fewer places for criminals to hide than on the streets. Though, his mother, if she were still alive, would scold him for even considering the idea in the first place. She was a wonderful woman, but also highly superstitious. She’d never liked the park, claiming that the area practically sang with magic. Steve was never allowed to enter the park for several years, his mother claiming that harm would come to him because he would walk through a faerie circle. Those warnings and those rules, no matter how much he told himself he didn’t believe in them, made him wary of taking that path, especially at night.

But, that was the option he decided on. Superstitions aside, the park was his best option. He needed to get home fast, or else his fingers would get frostbite or his lungs would freeze. He wasn’t sure which would happen first, but he wasn’t willing to find out either. So he took the turn and hurried his way down towards the park, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to get warmer.

As he neared the park, he once again got the feeling he was being watched. He paused at the park’s gate and glanced around again. Chances were, he was imagining things, but he said a quick prayer for safety before stepping onto the path that cut across the park towards his neighborhood.

After a short while, the wind started to pick up, gusting even harder than earlier. Air rushed past him, trying to blow him over and howling in his ears. Steve hunched over more to try to reduce the amount of his body being battered by the wind and tried to walk faster.

And then he heard it. The rustle of leaves to his right. Immediately, he stopped and whipped his head around, searching for the source. His mind told him it was the wind whipping its way through the trees, but his gut said otherwise, his paranoia getting the best of him. He watched for a moment, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he kept moving.

Then he heard it again, this time off to his left. So he paused again, turning his whole body around instead of just his head. He was starting to get uneasy; the rustling wasn’t matching the movement of the howling wind. Or, at least it wasn’t in his mind.

And then it came from behind him, along with the sound of quick footsteps on the path. Steve whirled around, his thin coat flapping in the wind. That was definitely not the wind.

“Who’s there?” he called out. No answer. Just more rustling, sounding from all sides now. It occurred to Steve that it could just be an animal, a squirrel or a stray dog or maybe a raccoon, skittering around him, but the thought stayed in the back of his mind. He felt like he was the animal at the moment, cornered and shaking and unable to escape from whatever creature was hunting him down.

The seconds ticked by, feeling like hours to him, as more rustling and more footsteps surrounded him. “Show yourself!” Steve yelled. His fist clenched against his side and he took a step back in the direction of home, ready to choose between fight or flight.

And that’s when the laughter started. Steve grit his teeth and tensed up, unable to pinpoint where it was coming from. His gut wasn’t lying when it made him feel like he wasn’t alone out here. He’d made a mistake by coming this way; he just hoped it wasn’t a fatal one.

“Mmmm, this one smells good. And cute too,” a voice purred to his side, female. Steve whipped around, but there was no one there.

“Easy, we don’t want to terrify him. I hate it when my food’s scared. It tastes funny,” another voice said, this one male.

“Oh please, he doesn’t look like the type to scare easily. He’ll be fun.” A thud sounded beside Steve and he turned to see a girl drop beside him. She had to have been younger than him, her face still holding the slight chubbiness of a child, her hair tied up in pigtails. Her skin was also pale, almost glowing beneath the light from the burning lamp above.

Steve swallowed hard and took another step back, freezing as his back hit something behind him. He looked behind him and felt the color drain from his face at the man behind him. He was bigger than him and most likely stronger as well.

“I don’t know; he’s a little too pale to not scare easily,” the man said and laughed. The girl, perhaps his daughter or younger sister, giggled as well as she walked up on his left side.

Steve spun around to face the pair, backing his way towards the city. “I’m not scared,” he lied. “You just surprised me, that’s all. No worries. I’ll just…be going then.” He clenched his fist tighter and turned to jog back across the park. But the girl was right there, making him jump back. Wasn’t she just behind him? No one could move that fast or that silently…could they? His mother couldn’t have been right about her mythical creatures that hunted humans.

“Oh, come on. Stay for a while,” she purred. She started walking forward, forcing Steve to back up. “We just want to play.”

Steve gave a quick shake of his head. “N-No thanks,” he stammered. His feet tangled together as he backed up faster. He stumbled backwards, straight into the grip of the man. Large arms wrapped around him to hold him in place. Steve squirmed, thrashing about while pounding his elbows, fists, and feet into his captor. The man only responded by laughing and tightening his grasp on the Irishman to hold him in place. His grip was like steel beams and Steve felt himself start gasping for air. His muscles couldn’t expand properly and his lungs burned. He could feel an attack rising up in his chest and all he could do was try to draw in as much air as possible while praying that he could get away.

“Let…me…go…” he gasped, trying to squirm away. He opened his mouth to talk again, but all that came out was a cough followed by sharp gasps and wheezing. His fingers fumbled in his pocket before tossing his wallet towards the girl in front of him. That was one thing his parents had taught him as soon as they came to the States; if anyone every attacked you, just hand over your wallet or whatever money you had on you. They’d probably let you go as soon as they had that.

The girl blinked before laughing at him. “Aw, he’s not just a looker, but he’s sweet too,” she said.

“And apparently dumb as a rock,” the man muttered. If Steve hadn’t been trying to control his breathing so much, he’d have argued that point.

The girl gave a soft snort before picking up the wallet. She came up to Steve and slipped it back into his pocket for him, smiling sweetly. “Honey, we don’t want your money,” she told him. Her smile then turned to a wicked smirk while fangs slid out over her bottom lip. “We just want your blood!”

Steve didn’t realize she’d moved until he felt the sharp stab in his neck where she bit him. He cried out from pain, but the only sound that came out was a gasp and a whistle. He couldn’t breathe anymore, and not just because of his asthma attack. He was terrified and realizing that he was going to die once his mother’s supernatural monsters drained him. This is what he got for doubting her warnings. At least he’d see her again once it was over. He could take some comfort in that.

“Hurry up. I need to feed too, you know,” the man said, his voice sounding foggy as Steve lost more blood and more air. “And I hear others coming.”

The girl grumbled against Steve’s neck before pulling back, letting his head hang forward and blood to trickle out of the bite. “Shut up. Find your own,” she spat. She then forced Steve’s head back up. He let out a soft whimper when she bit down again, amazed that he could feel pain still, let alone be conscious. It didn’t take long for him to start slipping though, his eyes drooping and his body growing limp. _Any second now_ , he thought, just waiting for the black blanket of death to cover him.

Right as he was about to slip under, he was dropped to the ground, and quite roughly at that. He groaned around the short gasps for air that he could get, the impact with the cold ground pulling him back towards consciousness just a bit. He cracked his eyes open, but his vision was too blurry to see anything, so he just closed them again.

“You said we were clear!” the girl yelled.

“We were! They must be expanding their range,” the man retorted. “We’ve got time. Besides, our orders--“

“To hell with our orders! I’m not going to stick around and get killed out here! We’re leaving!”

“But the boy—“

“Will be dead before they get here. He’s drained. And even if he’s not, there’s not enough juice left in him for them to fix. Now let’s _go._ ”

Steve didn’t hear them leave, but he figured they were gone when their voices stopped and no one touched him. He didn’t even question who was coming, why his attackers were so eager to leave before he was dead; his mind was shutting down. He was weak, he couldn’t breathe, and his throat was dry from his wheezing and lack of blood to make his body function properly.

As he started to slip away again, he heard voices around him, but he couldn’t pull out anything specific about them. _At least someone’s here. I won’t die alone_ , he thought. He felt his body being moved around and a soft weight being placed on his chest. And then, he felt wetness on his lips. On instinct, Steve opened his mouth. Liquid trickled down his throat, warm and sweet, and before he knew it, his muscles started to swallow. Well, he wouldn’t die thirsty at least.

He kept drinking, starting to gulp down more and more of the sweet liquid. He couldn’t stop and, frankly, he didn’t want to stop. He lost himself in the taste of it, not even realizing that he was getting stronger or that his veins were burning from the inside out.


End file.
